


Beyond the Veil

by mistysinkat, sallyamongpoison



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ghost Hunter AU, Ghosts, Haunted House, M/M, Questioning Reality, Questioning Sanity, Spirits, Suicide mention, murder mention, paranormal investigator dorian, skeptic cullen, spoopy fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 07:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8437591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistysinkat/pseuds/mistysinkat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sallyamongpoison/pseuds/sallyamongpoison
Summary: Cullen's been seeing things from the corner of his eye, hearing bumps in the night, and having a hard time deciding what's real. Lucky for him, his sister's called him some help... in the form of a talented paranormal investigator named Dorian Pavus. The only problem? This help comes with rather more cameras than Cullen bargained for. 
Rather more sidelong glances and strange little catches in his chest, too.





	1. Luck and An Exorcist

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to our newest collaboration - a short little AU especially for the Halloween season! 
> 
> Note: This is a published roleplay set in an AU loosely based on Ghost Adventures. Sally writes Dorian and Misty writes Cullen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The house was perfect... or so Cullen thought when he bought it. After a year's worth of increasingly inexplicable incidents, though, he's not nearly so convinced. At the very end of his wits, he can't tell if he's losing his mind or if there's something more sinister at work in his home. But at least there's help on the way, right? Help that comes with cameras and the threat of a ruined reputation, but help nonetheless.
> 
> \---
> 
> Written by Misty as an intro to this AU's Cullen.

The house was big. The house was old. The house was _cheap._

The house… had a history.

Of course, Cullen didn’t mind the history. It had only made the house - a sprawling amalgamation that was part log cabin and part cottage set amongst stately old trees on a large parcel of land - all the more interesting to him. He _liked_ that he could practically hear the past speaking to him there, and he’d put an offer on the place as soon as the realtor had finished walking him through it. Standing out in front of the house, he’d taken a deep breath, let the scent of the trees and fresh air and sunshine fill his nose, and he’d just _known_ this was the place. His new home. A place that didn’t constrain him or cram him in or steal his breath like all those dreadfully trendy lofts and miserably tiny condos he’d been shown up until now.

“Are you sure?” the realtor had asked, eyebrows raised in blatant surprise, “It’s a… a lot of house for a single person… a lot of _work_ … and the commute…”

“It’ll be fine...” Cullen had answered as he rocked on his heels, hands on his hips and chin tilted up with a soft smile on his face. “This is it. This is the one.”

“I’m glad you like it, but the past _several_ owners just abandoned it. Maybe the renovations were too much… I want you to be happy with your new home, but I also want to make sure you’re not biting off more than you can chew here…"

Cullen had turned then and leveled his shining, honey-gold eyes at the agent. “Put in the offer. Please.” His face was stern; his tone was final - that was the last word on it.

The bank accepted the offer immediately.  

\----

“And… you didn’t think it was strange that the _realtor_ was trying to talk you out of buying the house?” The voice on the other end of the phone was bored. Cullen couldn’t say that he blamed the guy - he probably did several of these phone screeners a day… and who knew what the temperament of the people who usually did this stuff was.

“Well, no,” he answered as he picked his car keys up from the middle of the kitchen floor for the second time that day. With a grunt, he straightened up and walked across the dining room to put them where they belonged - where _he_ always put them: on the hook by the side door. Again. “I assumed she didn’t want me to leave a bad review… you know… ‘this woman was so keen on her commission that she let me buy a money pit.’ Something like that. Now that I think about it… I guess she knew something.”

“And how long has it been since you bought the house?”

“One year… give or take.”

“Hm. And your sister… she made it sound like there was a lot of activity right off the bat.”

Ah, Mia. The only reason Cullen was even having this conversation was because of her. What she assumed… what the man on the other end of the phone represented… it was the stuff of pure fantasy. It was _exactly_ the sort of pseudoscience hogwash Cullen scoffed at and argued away with logic and the actual science of laws of nature and matter. How Mia could eat this obviously staged, overly melodramatic stuff up was beyond him. Ridiculous. The very notion was ridiculous to consider… and yet, here he was. He had no other explanation, no other solution, even after a full year of this… _activity_. And so, he found himself on a rainy Thursday afternoon, talking to a producer from Mia’s favorite supernatural reality show, knowing full well that the producer was trying to decide if his case was worth the trip out to investigate. And, oddly enough, he was actively trying to convince the guy it was.

Because at this point… Cullen was ready to try anything. Anything to confirm that he wasn’t slowly losing his mind. Anything to maybe make it all stop. Even if it meant his business would be aired out on national television on a silly show that featured a host who seemed… well, more concerned with his hair and wardrobe than his credibility. If one could even _have_ credibility in such a field.

“Dr. Rutherford?”

“Hm? Oh, right. Just… just Cullen is fine,” he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. _Maker, am I really doing this?_ Yes, yes he was. “And yeah… it started up the first night I moved in. Just… you know… small things at first. My keys wouldn’t be where I put them. The remote would be in weird places. Papers would be knocked over. Random cold spots in otherwise warm rooms. Seeing things in the corner of my eye when nothing’s there. That sort of stuff.”

“Mmhmm,” the voice hummed, “No kids? No pets that could have done that? You didn't just forget where you left the keys?”

“It's just me,” Cullen answered. He took a seat at his kitchen table and looked out the window as the rain kept falling. “And I _don't_ forget things like that. Trust me.”

“A place for everything, huh?”

“And everything in its place, yes,” Cullen returned easily. “And if I'm being honest, all of _this…_ ” he went on gesturing at nothing in particular, but meaning everything, “I still think it's…”

“Nonsense?” the man on the other end of the phone filled in, a hint of amusement apparent in his tone.

“I was going to say ridiculous, but yes. Still,” he sighed, watching the condensation as it formed on the window panes, “It's been a year and I can't explain it. There's no formula or law that explains it. And since the alternative to this spirit nonsense is that I'm losing mind…”

“You figured you'd explore this option first. I gotcha… but what was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back? What made you consent to this screener?”

“Other than my sister's incessant badgering… er, _help,_ you mean?” Cullen answered with a dry chuckle.

“She's a lovely woman,” the producer admonished, making Cullen laugh again.

“That she is,” Cullen agreed with a nod. Mia was stubborn as the day was long, but she had a good heart. “But what did it… what finally made me want to follow this thread… it talked to me.”

“Pardon? It spoke to you? Like with actual words and a voice?”

“N-Not so much, no,” Cullen replied and sat forward, letting the finger of his free hand trace circles over the smooth surface of his wooden table. The only other person he’d told about any of this was Mia, so the fact that all this was leaving his lips to a stranger on the phone had his heart pumping and a healthy flush on his face. He felt… silly, plain and simple. “I was up late, grading midterms… and so many students, they were missing one specific concept that it was getting… well, it was getting damn frustrating, truth be told. Test after test, the majority just _weren’t getting it_ . At first, you know, it was normal… but then, I just got to thinking… what if it was me? What if _I_ failed them?” The loops grew smaller and smaller as Cullen told his story. Recalling it now, weeks later, was still enough to shake him, even if it seemed fairly benign on the surface. “Point is, I can’t remember if I said it out loud or just thought it, but when I finally finished and got up for some water…”

After a moment of silence, the producer cleared his throat, “Yeah?”

“Well, on the fridge… I have those little magnetized letters for my niece and nephew to play with, you know? And they were all separated out in a circle… but in the middle… _S,_ then a sideways lowercase L, then a _Q_ over a _T._ ”

“You’re… gonna have to explain that one.”

“It’s the second law of thermodynamics. Entropy, where entropy equals the heat energy divided by temperature. I assume the sideways L was meant to be an equals sign, anyway. Come to think of it, though... maybe the… spirit or whatever meant the _change_ in entropy equals the _change_ in the heat energy produced over temperature… they don’t put magnetized delta symbols in those little sets, after all… but I digress... the point is… _that’s_ the concept the kids were missing. They were missing entropy, consistently… and there it was on my refrigerator. I have… I have no explanation for that."

Another stretch of silence drug out. Cullen could only imagine the guy was trying to hold in laughter. Cullen knew what he saw, but saying it out loud like that… it sounded… dumb.

“Look,” Cullen continued, “I took pictures. Not that it proves that it happened, but it happened.”

“No, no. It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just that it’s not… much. Keys moving around and letters spelling out some kind of equation. It’s not a lot to build a, ah… a compelling episode around.”

Scarred lips pursed as Cullen’s fingers stopped moving over the tabletop. _Well, this figures. I would get the boring spirit, wouldn’t I?_ “Ah. I see.”

“I’m sorry, but we usually get… darker stuff. Rituals. Copies of the Chant just suddenly bursting into flame. Old histories of murders or suicides, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, I guess mystical moving house keys and physics equations come off a little boring against all that. I’m just… I _need_ to know what’s going on here. _Am_ I losing my mind?” Cullen’s voice broke and he heard a hint of desperation he didn’t even know he felt. But he was. He was desperate for help… of any kind. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but I’d… I’d appreciate any kind of consideration, man. I just need some help.”

A long sigh came from the other end of the phone. “I get that. Alright, Cullen… I’m going to email you the form to get all your details. When you send it back, I’ll add your case to the shortlist of potentials. My boss’ll look them over with Dorian… and who knows… maybe something will grab their attention. They’ve been looking for something a little more… relatable. You might be just the thing.”

“Thank you. That’s all I can ask - I’ll look for your message.”

“Yep… I’ll send it right over.”

“I appreciate it - really, I do.”

“Good luck, Cullen,” the producer said brightly before he disconnected the call.

_Yeah. Luck_ . Cullen thought as his eyes lifted from the table top to the windows that were, by now, coated in condensation. Coated, save for trails that broke up the foggy cover. Trails that formed large, sprawling circles that became tighter, condensed loops as they travelled across the window. Patterns that were so fresh, beads of water were still running down from them. Amber eyes widened and stared at the tip of the finger that had _just_ been working its own set of circles on the table. A tired resignation settled itself across Cullen’s features as he ran his hand roughly over his face.

_Luck. And maybe an exorcist._


	2. "We're Trying to Be Relatable, Remember?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a bid to reach a wider audience, Spirit Encounter host Dorian Pavus has to adjust his expectations and go somewhere he doesn't really want to go. Hopefully the ratings will make it worth it... right?
> 
> \---
> 
> Written by Sally as an intro to this AU's Dorian.

  


This season was shaping up to possibly be one of the best so far, which was definitely a good thing, but there was no denying the fact that Dorian was exhausted. The first few weeks of hotels and traveling were always fun and exciting, but once the days started stacking up, it got more and more tedious. It wasn’t the work, not really, but more the getting there and leaving that was hard. Some days, it took all he had to not just throw a fit and go home for a week or so to sleep in his own bed. The hotels were always nice, that was for sure, but there was something about home that he missed when it started getting into week five and six.

This time it wasn’t even a plane trip. He’d been stuck in the middle seat of that SUV for the last four hours, on and off with phone calls and email, and was currently stretched out with his feet propped up against the door as he flicked through the call sheet for the last location. Dorian wasn’t exactly pleased about it either. He rested his chin on one hand, studied the application that had been sent along, and sighed. This was what he got for throwing the network a bone, after all.

A house. A house in Ferelden with some scraps of maybe poltergeist activity. It read more like the first third of a bad haunted house movie that came out just after the holidays instead of something dark and compelling. He rolled his eyes, smoothed his fingers over his mustache, and sighed. Why did he let them talk him into this again? Other than the fact that it would probably be a quick in and out with little to nothing to show for it and he could go home sooner. That was a saving grace, at least.

Dorian was lost in thought for a long moment as he pictured stepping off the plane after they wrapped. He was already seeing a long bath in his own tub, sleep in his own bed, and a week of blissful relaxation before he had to go in for post production. He could handle that. In fact, he could almost taste it. Maker, but it did taste pretty good. 

Until the chiming of the ringer in his earbuds shook him from those thoughts and he rolled his eyes as he clicked onto a phone call with his least favorite producer. “Hey, I was just looking over the next call sheet,” Dorian greeted.

“Mm, are you still sulking?”

That made him frown, and Dorian just tipped his head back and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something that was going to get him in trouble. He wasn’t sulking. He wasn’t. He wasn’t exactly  _ interested _ , but he wasn’t sulking. “I do not sulk, thank you.”

A chuckle, “Right, of course. Dorian Pavus would  _ never _ air his personal interests and get mad when he gets told to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

“It’s not that I don’t  _ want _ to,” he argued, “I just think there’s other places with real, documented activity that might be more attention grabbing-”

“I’m going to stop you right there,” his producer interrupted, “and I’m going to need you to listen to me, alright? This... we’re trying to be more relatable, remember? Going to help some poor guy who’s confused about what’s going on in his house is going to... you know, endear you. You help the average person, and suddenly you’re the guy who tackles  _ all _ the nightmares.”

“All because his keys aren’t where he leaves them and some fridge magnets get moved around?” Dorian asked, “I mean... I know it probably doesn’t say in the questions, but are we sure this guy doesn’t have a few beers and forgets where he put everything? He’s a professor, and I know tons of mine back at Uni would grade after some wine.”

“It doesn’t hurt anything to go out and check, Dorian.”

He sighed, “I just feel like this will be a waste, you know? Call it... intuition.”

“Even if it is a waste, it’s us trying to help someone. Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

“Sure,” he deadpanned, “a night in the suburbs sounds  _ thrilling _ .”

“Just be nice, alright?” his producer asked, “Nice and encouraging. Think of everything it could do for you and the show to just be... your usual charming self.”

“Like I’m anything but charming.”

“That’s the Dorian Pavus I know. Let me know when you get there and we’ll make sure everything’s up to scratch, okay?”

One hand had lifted to pinch the bridge of his nose, and Dorian squeezed his eyes shut, “Sure. Of course. Whatever you say.” They were almost there as it was, and Dorian could only wonder what was going to be waiting for him there. Just... a house, probably. A house. A house and some guy who was stressed and tired and thinking that things were happening when they weren’t. It was just a slight misfortune that his producers were trying to go down this new route and ate this guy's story up.

“Good man. Now go get ‘em, kid.”

He would. He always did. It wasn’t like he was going to get there and be a jackass because he’d rather be in some prison or old hospital. Dorian was better than that, he knew he was, but he just wasn’t terribly interested. That was something he’d never learned to curb: his disinterest. He couldn’t hide that. Still, he’d be compassionate. As much as he could be, of course. If there was nothing to be found, there was nothing to be found. That was why he was going. If the guy was having a nervous breakdown or something, that wasn’t on Dorian.

Maker help him, but he really hoped this Dr. Cullen Rutherford wasn’t going to have a breakdown when he got there. That was the last thing he needed right now.


	3. Primary Readings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen gives Dorian and his crew the grand tour of his home, and Dorian senses a deep loneliness... but from where, exactly?

Cullen had been thoroughly surprised to receive a follow up call from that same producer. Well, he wasn’t surprised he’d gotten the call - he was surprised that it wasn’t ‘Sorry, we’re going in another direction. Thanks for your time.’ Instead, it had been congratulations and a whole load of instructions and forms that needed signing and what to expect during the shooting and… it was almost enough to make Cullen rethink this whole thing. They’d be in his house for several days, it sounded like. They’d have access to his home, which… he’d expected that, but now that it was imminent, there was a bit of panic settling around the edges. If this thing made it to air, his reputation at the university would be in shambles. He could kiss his shot at head of the department goodbye and plan on smart aleck students and their snide comments. Actually, he should start planning for smart aleck colleagues and _their_ snide comments, too. The only thing saving him would be his tenure, he knew that.

And yet, he still signed every form and returned it on time. He still made all the preparations asked of him, which amounted to _not_ changing his routine or doing any extra cleaning around the house. He still requested time off in the middle of the semester for when they’d be shooting. That was how much he needed some kind of help… some kind of validation that he hadn’t lost his mind. He’d risk his reputation and his career just for some peace of mind.

Life went on in the weeks between that phone call and the appointed time. _Things_ kept happening. Indeed, it seemed like whatever it was somehow knew something was up - the activity increased, both in frequency and intensity. It wasn’t just keys missing or magnets moving about, it was lights on in rooms Cullen hadn’t even been in and cabinets open that had been closed just moments before. Even so, the things that happened… no, they weren’t frightening in and of themselves. What had Cullen sweating was the idea that all this could be in his mind.

So, when the day arrived and he heard the sound of gravel crunching under tires in his driveway, Cullen heaved a sigh of momentary relief as he lifted his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. They were there, finally. That fact brought a surge of nervous energy with it, sure, but at least he’d get his chance for some answers. So, Cullen watched, arms crossed and foot tapping nervously as the all-black SUV rolled to a halt next to his own little white hatchback. He swallowed, hard, when the doors opened and the passengers began filing out. They spared a smile for him before turning their attention to the house behind him, judging. He could see it in their eyes. _Guess I should get used to that_ , he thought with a heavy sigh as he walked forward.

A greeting was on his lips before the sight of pointy black boots beneath the back passenger door made him pause. So, there was a fourth person inside. _The_ person, apparently, and Cullen had to fight to maintain control of his eyebrows as the host of the show, one Dorian Pavus, stepped out and away from the car. _This is a grown man_ , Cullen thought as his eyes skimmed over the man for the first time, _A grown man in all-black, covered in piercings and gold jewelry, wearing what looks like some goth-fratboy tshirt… or is it called emo these days? Either way…_

Yes, whatever the term of the moment was for folks who wore animal skull designs on their shirts and black eyeliner and hair shaved at the sides… this man was it. Cullen was struck with an acutely painful moment of remorse - this man, pleasing as he was on the eyes (and oh, but he was that - all glowing skin and flashing eyes and those black jeans _did_ hug the man in all the right ways), he didn’t look like a… a _professional_. He didn’t look like an intellectual. He didn’t look like anyone that an actual scientist would take seriously.

Well, if there wasn’t a ghost in the house now, there would be soon. The ghost of Cullen's reputation.

Somehow, Cullen managed to keep all that in check, just under the surface as he approached the group and smiled. “Glad you’re here,” he greeted, “Hope you didn’t have too much trouble finding the place. I know I’m off the beaten path a bit.” He held his hand out to the man in all black, “Cullen Rutherford… just call me Cullen, please.”

\----

So… it was a house. It was a house, though not necessarily in the suburbs like Dorian had originally thought. That was something. Still, it was a quaint little place, he noted as they pulled into the driveway, and Dorian sat up a little to rearrange himself as the car parked and the others got out. This was fine. It was a good way to end a long session of filming, after all. He couldn’t complain about that.

When he got out though, and was greeted by who he could only assume was Dr. Cullen Rutherford, Dorian just...blinked. This man, the one with a cardigan on and curly blond hair that looked like it would be incredibly soft to the touch, was the person who was calling about activity in his house? Of course, he’d read the file, read that the man was a professor, but this wasn’t at all the type he expected to see. He was fit looking, broad and… well, very handsome. Young, too. Or younger than Dorian always seemed to equate with professors, and he had to wonder what was genuinely up with this. This man didn’t look the type to call their show. He also didn’t look like a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

“Dorian Pavus,” he replied as he held out a hand to the one that had been offered. Dr. Rutherford’s, no… _Cullen’s_ hand was warm and big, and when they shook, it was a nice change to the usual. One look, and this guy was probably not at all unlike that jumper he wore: comfortable, nice, warm. Dorian could read that immediately.

That said, when their hands pulled away from each other, Dorian couldn’t help a chill that settled over him. Fear. Real fear. Not fear manufactured to make trouble. Fear of _something_ that arguably no one could explain. Dorian knew that fear well. He’d felt it in a lot of people that he’d met, people who were scared, and suddenly… well, maybe this felt a bit more like their usual place than he thought. He’d always been sensitive to things like that, things that clung onto people like warmth after standing in the sun, and this Cullen was no different.

He was bright, though. Despite that fear, there was something about him that was like a warm fire. It was the kind of thing that was so inviting and made Dorian want to just be close. Strange, that. Strange, but not unwelcome.

After a moment he became aware of the fact that he was just looking at the man, and Dorian shook his head before he offered one of his patented smiles, “It’s a great property, seems like,” he offered, “other than… well, obvious reasons. Homey.” He rested his hands on his hips then, “And it’s good to meet you, Cullen,” Dorian went on, “I just hope us being here can help and not just be in your way for a few days, hm?”

\----

Curious. That pause, just after the handshake and before that brilliant smile, it was curious. There was _something_ going on behind those eyes, Cullen just knew it. He could see the gears turning in the man’s head and the look that ghosted over his features in that moment was… hard to describe. There was an odd little light of recognition there, some spark of sad clarity that made no sense, given the context. It wasn’t much, but it was enough… enough to be unsettling, like Dorian could somehow see... But then the man was smiling, and whatever Cullen thought he saw on his face was gone, entirely. _Silly,_ he thought, shaking his head and painting what he hoped was a confident smile on his own face, _trick of the light or just my own tired mind._

“Good to meet you, too, Mr. Pavus,” Cullen answered. He’d meant to sound friendly, first impressions aside. All he could manage, however, was tired. He was always tired now that a full night’s sleep was a thing of the past. He sighed and turned back to his home, gesturing with one arm. “It’s a good place… with a few exceptions, of course… but I’d hate to have to leave. It’s got history… a character, you know. Maybe too much. Unless I _am_ losing my mind, that is.” He chuckled, a soft, dry sound, and rocked back on his heels for a moment, letting his eyes glide over the house. No, he didn’t want to leave. He’d fallen in love with it the moment he saw it, and despite everything, that still remained. But maybe it wasn’t up to him… only time - and maybe Mr. Pavus - would tell. “But where are my manners?” he went on as he came back to himself and turned with a jerk back to the crew. It wouldn’t do to let his mind wander… though it so often did these days. “I, ah, imagine you’d like to come in. Look around. Maybe get something to drink or snack on after your trip?”

\----  

Ah, a man with some hospitality. That was rare. Most of the time, the only way they got food and drink was at the store and on the way to the hotel rooms. This was a nice change. “I’d appreciate it,” he answered, and waved a hand, “And if you’ll be Cullen, then just Dorian. Please.” Another smile, though this one was less bright and more warm for the moment. He could be genuine when it seemed like others were being genuine.

The others were already heading for the house, and Dorian followed after them so he might get a good look at the pace as they came up to it. It was an odd feeling. Normally Dorian got some sense of dread or… something. This wasn’t like that. If anything, it just felt moderately normal. Maybe, if he squinted as he took the house in, there was something tugging at the back of his mind that didn’t quite make sense, but for the most part, it was more Cullen that seemed to have that fear than the house itself. Strange.

“So you live out here by yourself?” Dorian asked as he stepped in, “that’s a bit of a drive up to the University, isn’t it?”

\----

Small talk. Cullen didn't usually care for it, but considering why the crew was even there… maybe it was ok this time. It wouldn't hurt to maybe ease into all this _spirit_ nonsense. It had been hard enough, after all, to tell the producer over the phone, let alone a real live person standing right in front of him. The longer he could put it off, the better. He'd be showing his full hand soon enough. All his cards would be on the table for the whole world to see. And judge.

“I do and it is,” Cullen nodded as he stepped up onto the front porch, a spacious area that ran along the entire front of the house. “I fell in love with the house and the property immediately so, for me… it's worth it. I don't have a soul waiting for me, anyway.” Cullen cut a sheepish glance over at the man, _Dorian_ , whose voice was smooth as silk and seemingly at odds with the image he cut. Under other circumstances, Cullen would have wondered who this man really was, if there was more to him than met the eye. As it stood, though, Cullen was rather more preoccupied with his circumstances and whether or not Dorian could actually help. Another chuckle, more to hide embarrassment than anything, bubbled up from his chest and he felt his cheeks go hot as he reached to open the front door. “Well, except for maybe one. I suppose that has yet to be seen… have you been doing this long? Does it help? Or does it just... piss _whatever_ it is off?”

\----

It was almost a pity that this Cullen didn’t have someone there at home to be there. The man was handsome, in a very professorial way, and Dorian could almost picture some no-nonsense type waiting for him at home to trade stories about the day over a very stout Fereldan meal. It would be very lonely out here, Dorian had a feeling, and for just a moment, it was like that was amplified times ten inside his chest. Something was lonely. The house? Cullen? Dorian didn’t know, but he could feel it.

“I’ve been doing this for a while,” Dorian answered, “and, uh... sometimes it pisses spirits off. That happens. But in some cases they just want to be heard, you know? Not forgotten.” He smiled over at Cullen then, “I can be a bit aggressive sometimes, depending on how aggressive they are. It helps to sort of match how things go. Makes them pay attention.”

Once they were inside, Dorian looked around the front room. It looked... like a house. Maybe not the stereotypical suburban home or anything, nothing out of the magazines his mother read to be on the up and up of what was trendy, but... nice. Cozy. It matched the outside. It was just a house. “Maybe once we get that drink we can have a walk through?” he asked, “you can sort of show me where some things have happened and you can talk me through it. Sometimes it’s easier to talk about it in person than over the phone, right?”

\----

“Oh… no. No,” Cullen answered a little shake of his head and a high laugh as he moved into the kitchen. “I have a feeling it’s definitely gonna be harder to talk about all… this with a real live person in front of me. The, ah… judgement’s more palpable this way, you see.” Again, he laughed. It wasn’t that any of this was funny, or maybe it was… but only in how off the map all of it was. “Here be monsters,” he murmured, low and under his breath, as he gathered enough cups for everyone. The glasses made little clinking sounds as he placed them, one by one, on the stone countertop. For a moment, he was lost there in front of the crew - there was no real context for any of this, and he struggled with how to even begin.

With a sigh, he came back into focus. There was a task at hand… that much he could do. “Sweet tea ok? Or… there’s water, of course, and some orange juice. The soda’s gone missing, I’m afraid.”

\----

“Sweet tea is fine,” Dorian agreed, and moved to lean his hip against the counter as he watched Cullen for a long few moments. It was clear he wasn’t so sure about all this. If he wasn’t sure, why had he called? What was the point of it? Some missing keys, or soda as it were now, and moving fridge magnets... and he didn’t really want them there? It didn’t make sense. “I don’t want you to think we’d judge you,” he went on more gently, “we’ve all seen our fair share of things. Of anyone, we’re probably the best to tell all this to. So don’t worry about that.”

Some lonely guy in a house near the woods wasn’t terribly compelling, though. But Cullen didn’t seem the attention seeking type. It was all just...weird. Dorian had the weirdest feeling for the moment. “Have you ever, uh... watched our show?” he asked, “even just a little bit?”

\----

And again, a look Cullen couldn't quite figure out passed like a shadow over the fine features of Dorian's face. It was fleeting - had Cullen not spent much of his adult life cueing off of students’ expressions just as much as their words, he might have missed it. The moment, however quick, was… not chilling, really, but _telling_. Whatever else this man was, he was perceptive. He could sense something. And whether that something was just an angle for the show or an actual presence... Cullen found himself anxious to know. In time, he supposed he would.

He regarded Dorian for a breath, searching the man's face for any other clues, but the time for that had passed, it seemed. With a smile that wasn't unlike the kind his students gave him when they'd missed homework or hadn't studied enough, Cullen raised a hand and held his thumb and forefinger only a hair’s breadth apart. “Only about this much, I'm sorry to say. This…” he went on, gesturing out at the crew, “is more my sister's thing. She's the one who called when she got… tired of me being tired. She talked me into this.”

A quick trip to the fridge saw Cullen filling their glasses in a moment, pushing them towards his guests when he was done. “I guess you'd call me a skeptic. In my world, most things can be explained with an equation or theory. And If it can't, it just means one hasn't been discovered yet… there are _rules_ , you know?” He sighed and took a sip from his own glass. It was cool and sweet and refreshing, but he was hardly refreshed. “Still… either I'm wrong and the world is bigger than I can see… or I'm actually losing it out here by myself.” He shrugged and held up both of his hands, palms toward the people on the other side of the counter. _And there you have it._

\----

Dorian shared a look with one of the producers as he reached out to take the glass. He took a sip, winced, and pulled the glass away from his lips to look at it. Cullen really hadn’t been lying about it being ‘sweet tea.’ It was like liquid sugar. “Maker,” he breathed before he licked his lips, “you weren’t kidding, were you?” he asked. He wouldn’t have pegged Cullen to have that much of a sweet tooth, really.

“Anyway,” he went on as he set the glass back down and looked over at Cullen, “we’ll see what’s going on here, hm? I’m _very_ good. If there’s something to be found here, I’ll find it, and then we’ll figure out a way to make sure you’re comfortable here.” Grey eyes searched those rather nice looking amber ones, and Dorian reached out a hand to rest it on Cullen’s cardigan-covered arm, “No one should be uncomfortable in their own home. Believe me. For any reason. We’ll figure it out.”

\----

At any other time, the assertion _I'm very good_ may have read to Cullen as swagger and overconfidence, so much bluster to be ignored until the time came to really put those words to the test. Standing there, being held by those eyes that were somehow so earnest, hearing words meant to comfort, that touch… in that moment, Cullen _believed_ him. Whatever it was that Dorian did, Cullen didn't doubt that he was _very_ good… and, more importantly, that he had a real desire to help, over-the-top outfit aside.

It was an odd feeling. A little warm. Overwhelming and relieving in a way Cullen hadn't expected. Maybe there, behind those soft grey eyes, was actual understanding. A long exhale, and Cullen realized that perhaps he was staring into a stranger’s eyes for longer than was prudent or appropriate. “Right,” he agreed with a staccato clip and jerked upright.

A few things happened in that moment. Cullen registered the loss of warmth from Dorian's hand as he broke contact. His own hand hit his glass of tea solidly as he pulled away, and he had a moment to think _well, that'll be a mess_ before it toppled off the counter and shattered.

Except it didn't. Cullen watched as it somehow rolled on its base… a movement that was just barely outside Cullen's theories and laws, but still impossible if you were paying attention. In a breath, the glass was upright, only minutely displaced by the whole thing. Amber eyes snapped back to grey. “Did you see that? Tell me you saw that. _Please_ .” The hint of desperation was there, an undercurrent to adrenaline. _Tell me I'm not crazy._

\----

Well, that was certainly something. Dorian stared at the glass, watched it roll around like someone was righting it, and one eyebrow cocked as it settled itself back on the counter. Poltergeist activity, but not... well, not normal. If it were normal, that glass might have gone flying across the room. No spirit he’d ever encountered would do _that_. Not... not like that. Curious.

One finger pointed to the glass, then he looked up at Cullen to stare into those desperation filled eyes. The man really was looking for help. This wasn’t some grand location with a rich backstory that would give him fuel for deep voiceovers, at least not that he knew of yet, but there was something to be said about one man extending himself and needing help. He hadn’t wanted to be relatable, but the way Cullen looked at him and the tone of his voice said more than any prompting his directors could give him.

“I think maybe we should start going through and you can tell me what’s been going on,” Dorian told Cullen with his eyebrows raised a bit, “we’re not going to film tonight, not really, but I want to hear what you have to say. Everything you can remember from when you moved in til now. Alright?”

Again, he gestured at the glass, “we’ll make sure to include that too.”

\----

Thank the Maker - Dorian had seen it. The other people who’d come with them looked a little like maybe they didn’t understand what had happened, but Dorian hadn’t missed it. There was still the chance that the man was playing into all this for a better show, of course… but it really didn’t feel like that. This man, Dorian, he just had a way about him that made Cullen feel… comfortable. Or more comfortable than he had in a long time. He had to believe that there was sincerity in those eyes.

“Well,” Cullen answered with a shaky little chuckle, “You’re in luck.” With that, he moved out into the dining room to grab his laptop off the table and brought it back with him to the counter, standing beside Dorian this time as he opened it back up and started opening files. “When I finally admitted to myself that things were actually happening… I wanted to see if there was a pattern. Time. Place. Circumstance. Something… anything to make some sense out of all this.” With a few clicks, he had a spreadsheet up on his screen. “So I started tracking events. This is everything that’s happened - no matter how small - for the past 9 months. The only real pattern I could find was me. It happens at all hours and in no particular place. Just… where I happen to be. Or have been. Or will be soon.”

He scrolled down all the data he’d gathered over the past several months. There was… well, there was a lot of it. “But… a few times do stick out. It’s mostly just things being moved around or lights being on, but sometimes it’s like… it can sense my mood… or how I’m doing? Like here,” he explained as he pointed out one row, “I had a cold that day. It didn’t move my keys or fuss with the cabinets randomly… it took four oranges out of the bag and lined them up on the counter. I had a fever, but I wasn’t so far gone that I wouldn’t remember doing that.” Cullen shrugged and looked over at Dorian, “But it’s all here. I know spreadsheets don’t make great TV, but here’s everything.”

\----

Spreadsheets. Of course Cullen would have spreadsheets. The professor was, as all professors were, keen to document and try to rationalize. He should have expected this. That said, it earned the man a chuckle from Dorian and he scrolled through everything, “Well this will save us taking notes,” he teased gently, “but why don’t you just walk us through and sort of tell us in your own words what isn’t on the spreadsheets. Like how you felt or... anything like that?”

He raised his eyebrows and gave Cullen a bit of a look, “we try to be fairly scientific, but right now I want to know what you felt and what you thought. We’ll get into the numbers and patterns in a bit. Sound okay?”

\----

_Feelings._ Feelings didn’t sound very scientific. Feelings sounded… well, hard. Confusing. Almost harder than admitting out loud that the nonsense Mia had been spouting had started to make sense. Cullen straightened up and turned towards Dorian, leaning one hip into the counter as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “Look… I…” he started and then huffed in defeat, “I mean… yeah. We can do that. I imagine your guys need a look around for… what? Equipment and lighting? I can give you the tour and tell you… what you need to know.”

\----

Dorian nodded. That was about how it went on the first day, and he smiled at Cullen again. “We’ll make sure not to disturb your house too much,” he promised as he gestured to the others, “though this is our first time in a private residence that’s not been converted into a... museum or something, usually. I don’t want to completely disrupt everything here. So we’ll be as careful as we can.”

He gestured to the other room, “So... shall we?”

\----

“Alright,” Cullen nodded, “Then, ah… let’s just get started in here, then?”

After he'd been assured that this was just a warm up and shooting wouldn’t _really_ begin until the next day, Cullen took his guests on the grand tour. The house was spacious, a little too big for a single man, but in the end, Cullen really only had stories to tell in the rooms where he spent most of his time. Kitchen, dining room, den, stairwell, office, bathrooms, his bedroom - they all had their tales. The rest of the rooms in the house? They didn’t get much more than a wave. Cullen rarely went in those rooms, so neither did… whatever it was that was doing all this.

Taken separately, most of the incidents he shared didn't deserve more than a handwave. Bumps in the night that _could_ be attributed to the old plumbing in the house. His things turning up missing, only to be found in increasingly odd places. Doors opening, magnets moving, any of those things on their own could be written off as momentary forgetfulness on his part, even if he knew otherwise. No, it wasn't really _what_ had been happening that had him scared and tired and wanting help. It was the sheer volume of occurrences, made clear by his spreadsheet and even clearer now that he found himself talking himself blue in the face with all the things that had happened.

“And here's where I was standing when I heard the cabinets opening and slamming shut…”

“The TV turned on by itself while I was working late one night…”

“I found my keys inside my printer once…”

“I had to buy new socks when one out of _every single pair_ I own turned up missing. Still haven't found them.”

“My razor blades were all out by the sink, all lined up, when I was done showering one morning. I use one of those old-school razors, with the actual blades, you know. So that… was a little chilling, actually.”

“I get the chills all the time now. Just… one second it's warm, and the next second I'm freezing. It's like cold air on the back of my neck. Makes my hair stand on end.”

“Sometimes, I think I hear whispering.”

“I just… I never feel like I'm alone anymore. Like I'm being watched. Always. Damned unsettling.”

It went on as he led Dorian and his crew through his house. So many little things that added up to an uncomfortable whole. For their part, everyone paid attention, nodding in places, taking notes, and checking each room for something. Angles and equipment placement, Cullen assumed. By the time they made it up into his room, he was going hoarse and wishing he'd brought his glass of tea with him. Still, only one more room to go. When he opened the door, though, he shook his head and sucked his teeth in annoyance at the sight before him. _Of course._

“Well, I promise I'm not a slob - made the bed this morning. This happens a lot, too. Supernatural turn down service, I guess,” Cullen shrugged with a heavy sigh as he made his way over to the bed. He'd _definitely_ made it that morning - he made it every morning - but here it was, like it'd been slept in and… was that something poking out from under the covers? Curious now, he pulled the blanket back before barking out a single dry laugh.

“And, the missing soda has been found. Good thing, too. Need the caffeine… even if the doc says I'm not supposed to have it.”

Cullen turned, bottle of soda in hand, and faced Dorian again. “And that's… well, that's not all of it, but it's a good deal.” He ran his free hand through his hair and shifted his weight onto his back foot. “I know it might not seem like much… not to someone who spends his time in cemeteries or old dungeons or wherever… but there's just so much of it. And it's getting worse. I just hope I'm not, ah… wasting your time.”

\----

This certainly was a step in a different direction. When Dorian heard ‘activity’ in relation to what he researched it usually involved something a bit more... malevolent? Active? Stealing socks, moving soda bottles, and that kind of thing would just make him wonder if Cullen was lonely and really did want attention. But the feeling of being watched, the chills, the razor blades lined up... that was more Dorian’s speed. It was such a weird mix, though. So, so weird. Almost like it was two separate stories. Like maybe Cullen _was_ lonely, but maybe there was something else too?

As they walked, though, Dorian did become aware of the feeling like he was being watched. He felt it, felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as they moved into certain areas, and he made a few mental notes to try those spaces later. It was just such a strange thing, that loneliness he felt. Was it the house? Was it Cullen? The way the man acted as he took them through the house proved that maybe he wasn’t so comfortable so Dorian wouldn’t assume he’d be the type to call a television show to come out. Or have his sister do it, whatever it was. Still. The man had a good head on his shoulders, so t didn’t make sense.

That head was also rather handsome, so Dorian didn’t so much mind wandering through the man’s house and listening to him talk. The stop in the bedroom made him have to hide a small smile, and for just a moment he could imagine those sheets rumpled for a whole other reasons. That wasn’t professional thinking, which he knew, but he couldn’t help it. Maybe a little positivity wouldn’t go astray around the house, anyway. But instead Dorian steadied himself and looked around before he folded his arms.

“Well,” he began after a long moment, “we have our list of places to set up, and tomorrow we’ll go through with the interview proper. It’s good to hear it all out loud, though.” It was, too. It was a good way to tell if someone was lying, or how scared they were, or just how into it they felt. It almost seemed like Cullen was on the outskirts yet still right in the middle. Strange. The whole thing was strange. It was intriguing, though. That was for certain.

“You said before you feel like you’re being watched a lot of the time,” Dorian said, “is there a time where that seems more... I don’t know, strong? Like you feel it regularly at a certain time? Or is it just all the time, or no pattern to it?” Mostly he wanted to know if there was a timestamp he needed to pay attention to. It would be important for the investigation as well as the research, and Dorian just wanted to know if there was a high point to be looking for other than an address.

\----

Oh, the interview. That’s right… the whole point of this thing was to record a tv show. Or at least, that was the whole point for Dorian and his crew. Cullen was rather more concerned with any kind of… proof the group could produce. The show - having his business _out there_ \- was an unpleasant price to pay, but one he had to pay nonetheless. Still, there were about, oh, a thousand butterflies flitting about in Cullen’s stomach. He tried to keep a brave face on, despite the sound of Mia’s voice in his head - _honestly, you act like you’re more scared of a camera than the possibility of a spirit being in your house_ \- and cleared his throat to buy himself some time to regain just a little bit of composure.

“I… ah… I’m sorry. I didn’t document the _feelings_ … just the concrete things that happened,” Cullen answered, caught somewhere between feeling guilty for not being as thorough as he should have been and justified because… well… _feelings_ weren’t quantifiable, were they? “Though perhaps this particular experiment required special… parameters,” he muttered to himself before meeting Dorian’s striking eyes. Sharp as a tack, this one, and for the briefest of moments, Cullen wondered what kind of conversation they’d strike up if they’d met under other circumstances and if the other man would ever… But no.Cullen shook his head, frowning at himself for drifting off and losing his train of thought. “To answer your question though… as best I can without any records… it really doesn’t have a pattern I can tell. It just sort of... drifts and swirls, if that makes sense... coming and going as it sees fit.” Cullen cut his eyes upwards as he thought about it more. Was there a time that the sensation was stronger? His mind went back to the phone call with the producer a few weeks back and those swirls drawn in the condensation on the windows. “Though… well… if I had to pick... maybe I do sense it more when I’m working at night… I do a lot of grading at the dining room table. Sometimes, I swear there’s someone sitting in the chair across from me. Or standing over me. But I look up and turn around and… nothing.”

\----

“It would make sense that it would happen at night,” Dorian told him with a nod, “most things do. And if you’re here alone and it’s comfortable, then it might kick up a bit more than during the day.” That, or if perhaps Cullen himself had a routine there might be something to that. Then again, that might be something to ask tomorrow when they came through again. Right now it looked like the man was about ready to throw them out and lock the door. Or something. Who really knew?

Dorian looked around again and unfolded his arms before he reached out a hand so it was in the middle of the room. He could feel eyes on them, eyes that weren’t the crew or anything like that, and he had to wonder if whatever entity Cullen had was there with them.

“Do you think you can trust me for a second?” he asked Cullen, “You know, based on all of two hours of knowing me?”

\----

Well, this was… different. Cullen’s brows furrowed and he tilted his head as he just considered the man just... standing there with one arm stretched out. _What in the Maker’s name…?_ How odd… but really, what did he expect? This whole thing was just so far out there, but considering the fact that he himself was standing there cradling a two liter bottle of soda with strangers all around him in his bedroom… he really didn’t have room to be judgey. He didn’t have room for much, so Cullen relented, his face relaxing as he waved his free hand. “You’re the expert here… I’m out of my depth. Just don’t… ah… make _anything_ angry.”

\----

“Never,” he chuckled, and closed his eyes for a moment. Something was in there. Dorian could feel it somehow against his skin like it was a sweater made of electricity. He took a breath, then opened his eyes. “I’m addressing the entity here, the one who’s been playing tricks on Cullen here, my name is Dorian Pavus and I’d like to get to know you if I could. We’re going to try our best to make sure your voice is heard so we can know why you’re staying in this house, and maybe why you’re so interested in bothering Cullen. We don’t mean you any harm, we just want to get to know you. Alright?”

Dorian was quiet for just a moment then, and looked up at Cullen, “I do try to be polite and introduce myself.”

\----

Cullen watched and chewed at his thumbnail - a nervous habit his mother never quite cured him of - as he watched Dorian speaking to… what? The air? The _entity_ ? Is this what the next few days was going to be like… a whole bunch of standing around talking to themselves? He had to work hard to keep his inner skeptic at bay. It was a close thing, but there had been _something_ about this man that made Cullen believe earlier when they were in the kitchen. That feeling was still there, holding on by virtue of the soft, confident way in which Dorian spoke, so Cullen bit back a snort and listened when Dorian went quiet. For a moment, he stood still and listened to…

Nothing. Silence.

He really didn’t know what he expected, and, the spell broken, he opened his mouth to say… something. Some biting retort or other about this interesting application of the scientific method, but those words died on his lips as Dorian directed his eyes up at Cullen. Disarming. The man was utterly disarming. In spite of the ridiculous clothes and hair full of product, Cullen found himself suddenly on his back foot, caught in that gaze. _They sparkle_ , he thought absently, _He sparkles._

_Oh, for Andraste’s sake, Cullen._

The beginnings of a flush on his cheeks, Cullen pursed his lips at his own wandering thoughts - lack of control - and shook his head. “Perhaps that was my mistake, then,” he answered, a little too curtly before he softened and smiled sheepishly. “Poor manners… I don’t have much in the way of social graces.” He was quiet for a moment, feeling his ears begin to heat. “But.. did you… hear anything? Or feel anything?”

\----

There was something cold just about where his hand was, and for just a moment Dorian felt... _something._ Whether that was whatever haunted Cullen’s house or maybe the way Cullen looked at him, he felt something. Those amber eyes were gentle and kind, if a bit skeptical, and that was okay. Still, Dorian could feel it all around him.

“You’re just fine, Cullen,” Dorian told him, and pulled his hand back so he could fold his arms again, “and there’s... something. I don’t know what yet, but I think I do feel something. Someone’s listening, anyway.”

\----

Amber eyes tracked the movement of that hand as Dorian tucked it under his arm, and Cullen wondered what it was that the other man felt there in that room... even as he wondered what it was that _he_ was feeling. Interest. That’s all it was. He was curious about the man. Cullen was a scientist, it was only natural that he would be… inquisitive about something that was so utterly different from everything he’d ever known. Right?

“I don’t know about fine,” he finally answered, shaking his head and chuckling softly to pull himself out of that particular train of thought. “But… I guess it’s good you, ah… sense something. I kind of wish it wasn’t in my bedroom, I’m not going to lie. A little… awkward.”

\----

“Have you maybe thought to ask it leave you be in private places?” Dorian asked with a smile, “sometimes that works.” Sometimes. Cullen didn’t strike him as the type to do that kind of thing, but it was an interesting idea. That did, however, mark the end of night one. Or day one. The first day of the shoot. They’d met and chatted a bit, and that was important.

Dorian sucked in a breath then, “Well, that’s all we need for tonight,” he told Cullen, “we should let you get rested up for tomorrow when we start filming.” Of course they should. It was going to be a long few days. But still, the way Cullen looked at him made his stomach do a few flips. He was kind and handsome and even with that air of fear around him there was still something else... something that made Dorian want to jump to conclusions.

He paused for a moment, studied those lovely eyes, then gestured around, “I mean... we’re going to grab the keys to our room and everything, but after that we’ll go get something to eat. Did you, you know, feel like getting out for a bit?”

\----

Scarred lips parted, and Cullen stood there for a moment, mouth slack with disbelief. Indecision. Incredulity. Any of those things and all of them, because he hadn’t expected… this. Kindness. Even if Dorian was only being polite, it was a kindness, and Cullen’s slack jawed expression turned into a smile - a real smile with real pleasure behind it.

“I don’t know,” he answered slowly and seriously, though he was still grinning and his eyes had just a hint of a twinkle in them, “My mother always told me not to get into any cars with strangers…” He thought to duck out gracefully, walk them down the stairs, and see them to their car - he didn’t want to put them out despite the happiness he’d felt at the offer. It would be imposing; they needed their rest, too, after all.

But before the words _so I’ll have to pass tonight_ could cross his lips, a chill ran down his spine and the small hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The… presence… or whatever it was… it surely wasn’t going anywhere. An evening out with people - one person in particular - it was so much more attractive than the thought of maneuvering around that big house and feeling those otherworldly eyes crawling all over him. A few hours of relief. A few hours of relief and getting to know this Dorian a little better… that sounded like perfection. “... but, ah, maybe I won’t tell her just this once, huh?”

\----

Well, that was nice to know. That little smile Cullen wore was heartening, and while Dorian knew he was there to help the man with the entity in the house, there was a part of him that maybe wanted to give him something to smile about. Even for a night. Some dinner, maybe a drink, some laughs, anything like that would be good for Cullen. He looked shaken and worried, and for some reason that made Dorian hurt just a little. “Good,” he chuckled, then cleared his throat when his voice cracked just a little in his excitement.

That wasn’t the usual kind of thing, then again neither was asking someone to go out with them. Dorian rarely, if ever, did that. But Cullen looked like he needed it.

“We can give you a bit to get ready,” Dorian offered, “while we get our stuff put away. Come down and find us when you’re ready, hm?”

\----

“Right. Sure. Sounds good,” Cullen answered, and tried not to let the nerves shine through in his voice. There really wasn’t a need to get ready for anything, but a few minutes to himself - just to gain his bearings - sounded great. Cullen never really did this sort of thing, just… _go out_ on a whim with what amounted to strangers. He was a man of plans and routine, averse to change and uncomfortable with new people. _Especially_ uncomfortable with new people who were particularly interesting. And Dorian was just that - interesting. Cullen didn’t quite have the man down yet: Obviously intelligent. A kindness in his voice. Attractive… no, make that _stunning_ … under the styling and mall goth outfit. Yet he hunted _spirits_ for a living.

When Cullen was alone in his room, he set the bottle of soda he was still holding down on the dresser and then fell back on his bed. Just for a minute - he wanted to lie there and think for just a minute. The longer he laid there, though, the closer he was to backing out. Clearly, Dorian was just being nice to the frightened man in the (supposedly) haunted house. That was all. He probably didn’t think Cullen would say yes. He might be downstairs regretting even asking Cullen to join. And who would blame him if he was? College professors who kept to themselves and never broke routine… they weren’t much fun, were they?

“Better go let him off the hook,” Cullen muttered out loud as he pulled himself to his feet. But then that chill was back, colder and more real than ever, and the feeling of eyes on him was so heavy he could _feel_ it. His heart skipped a beat and his stomach rolled with nausea, and suddenly there was the deeply instinctual need to just _get out_.

Cullen took the stairs two at a time in his haste to leave his room. There was no way he was going to stay in there another moment… maybe later it would be fine, but right now? Now the very idea filled him with dread. He mostly kept it together - at least he thought he did - as he grabbed his keys and hustled out the front door and across the porch to the driveway where the crew was getting everything back into their SUV. “So, ah… do… do you know... where you’re going?” he asked through breaths he barely kept steady, “Should I just follow you… or?”

\----

The sight of Cullen bursting out of the house like that made Dorian raise an eyebrow. They were mostly just putting cases back in the SUV, and Dorian shared a look with one of the crew before he turned back to look at Cullen. He looked scared. Something around him was practically swirling, and he furrowed his brow as he watched Cullen come up. For just a second it was like he was cold, like something cold was around him and drew him closer to Cullen, and Dorian reached out a hand to rest on the other man’s arm.

“Are you okay?” Dorian asked. That was the most important thing. “Did something happen?” he went on, “you’re breathing hard.”

\----

“Nothing happened. I’m fine.” The answer was automatic - a knee jerk response to a question he’d been asked when Mia called at the wrong time or when he was still shaken when he made it to class in the morning. _Nothing happened. I’m fine._ But that wasn’t true, and these people… they were here to help. Even if the producers weren’t, _Dorian_ was. Even now, Cullen could see it in the man’s eyes and feel it in the warmth of his touch. There was sincere concern there. Genuine care for Cullen, a veritable stranger.

But no one, however genuine, could help Cullen if he kept trying to hide things.

“Wait... No, that’s not what I meant,” Cullen relented in a softer tone. “Just… old habits and all… I usually don’t advertise all this,” he explained as he waved a hand back to the house. “It was just… after you left… there was… it got… _heavy_ . Heavy and cold, and something was telling me to get out. So… I got out. But I’m ok. It’s ok.” After a pause, Cullen took a breath and raised a hand to cover the one resting on his arm, surprised at the little tingle that touch sent up through his arm. Surprised that he could even register it, considering. “Thanks… thanks for asking. And _caring_. It’s nice to not be… judged.”

\----

It was almost entirely too strange. Dorian hadn’t felt anything terribly malicious, and it seemed like the activity in the house wasn’t exactly malevolent. For it to suddenly be telling Cullen to go and giving him bad feelings, though? Unless their presence had stirred things up. Maybe the spirit was jealous or something? Dorian had heard of that before. Though usually there was some other kind of indication.

“Has it ever done that before?” he asked Cullen, “made you feel like you had to leave? Like you should get out?” It was another beat before he realized Cullen was covering his hand, and Dorian squeezed the man’s arm just gently enough to show a bit of encouragement, “just take a breath, hm? Then we’ll head out and get you something altogether not good for you at all in your system and you’ll feel better.”

\----

Oddly enough, Cullen already felt better. Maybe it had something to do with simply getting out of the house, or maybe the cause for the warm feeling at his core was the hand on his arm. Either way, Cullen’s heart was slowing and the chill - along with the goosebumps that came with it - had faded. In fact, standing safely outside in his yard, Cullen had to work - and work hard - to keep from trying to deny that it had even happened at all. The same sense of embarrassment was right there, hanging around the edges. _You’re a grown man. You can’t honestly be entertaining this nonsense._

Cullen swallowed, keeping all that at bay. The show, Dorian… they were here _because_ of this nonsense. For once… Cullen could be honest about it. Honesty without fear… and that was a good feeling. Good enough to make him chuckle as the hand he’d placed over Dorian’s moved to run through his own blonde curls before adjusting his glasses back up on his nose. “I’ve found that just about anything that involves food makes me feel better,” he said with a little grin before taking that breath Dorian suggested. “But… no. It’s never been quite that strong before… I’ve felt the chills and the eyes on me, you know, but never something with that much… intent, I guess. If that makes sense?”

\----

“Strange,” Dorian commented, then looked over at the others. They were more or less ready to go, and he smiled before he turned to look back at Cullen, “how do you feel about me riding with you? So long as we stop at the hotel first we were thinking... burgers? There’s a place in town that has some pretty good reviews, and we were thinking of hitting that up. Maybe sit out on the patio and enjoy not being inside?”

It was sounding a bit like a date, honestly. The others would be there, Dorian knew that, but for a moment it felt like it might only be he and Cullen. Or, at least, like he and Cullen were sort of the only two people in the world. That wasn’t a terrible feeling either. “You look like you could do with a burger and a beer,” he teased, “both from all this and maybe from all that grading you have to do too?”

\----

“Beer and a burger, huh?” Cullen asked, eyebrow raised and a teasing note in his voice, “Is that your typical spirit hunter fare? Seems awfully _normal_ to me.” With a chuckle, he winked and turned towards his little hatchback, waving for Dorian to follow. “ I’ll be happy give you a ride… so long as you promise not to judge me by the state of my car…  I’ve got about three days and four classes of tests and papers crammed in here I need to grade while I’m off. So you hit that nail on the head.”  

He moved to get folders full of student work out of the passenger seat, carefully placing them in the floorboard in the back. That done, he straightened up and held the door open, grinning over at Dorian. “And clean… or mostly. There’s a place to sit now though, so… after you, sir” Cullen said with a polite little nod. “Maybe on the drive over, you can tell me how one even ends up in this line of work... “

\----

And again, for just a moment, this felt a little like there was no one else in the world but them. Dorian had the address of the hotel on his phone, his bag was in the SUV already, so he didn’t really have anything to worry about but getting in the car with Cullen. Maker, it wasn’t unlike a few dates he’d had in the past. Cullen standing there and smiling like that, holding the door open, that was exactly how a few dates had started. The man’s smile was gorgeous, infectious, and Dorian just chuckled a little as he slid into the front seat and got settled.

This really was going to be unlike every show they’d ever done. Dorian had never been _attracted_ to someone like he was to Cullen, even in this short amount of time, and he’d never been so drawn to how someone felt like he was right now. It was like he so wanted to know where that loneliness came from, and maybe... maybe he would find out after a drink and some time away from the house. Hopefully, he would. It might make for a better show, but that was slightly less important at the moment.

Once the other man was in, Dorian smiled, “Have you always been so chivalrous? Something tells me it gets drilled into you when you’re little plaid-wearing Fereldan children?”

\----

A single laugh rumbled up from Cullen's belly as he got the car cranked and into gear. It was amazing, really, how much better he felt now that he was out of the house and its unsettling atmosphere. The feeling of dread had mostly vanished by now, and as he pulled around to follow the other vehicle out of his driveway, things seemed… _good_. It took him a second to recognize the feeling for what it was: a pleasant sort of anticipation. He was actually looking forward to getting out, and with a veritable stranger no less. A stranger that maybe he'd have dismissed as too… different at first glance, but one he was liking more and more every minute. That, too, was a little incredible.

“I don't know if chivalrous is the way I'd describe it,” Cullen returned, shaking his head, “More like courteous. I'm nothing if not polite.” As he drove, Cullen cast a quick glance Dorian's way, face a mask of seriousness though he couldn't quite rid himself of the crinkles at the corners of his eyes that betrayed his amusement. “And I'll have you know that not _every_ Ferelden runs about in plaid flannel drinking cheap domestics… or whatever it is you northerners think we do.” A beat passed before he went on. “I mean, _I_ do… but not all of us are like that.”

\----

The mental image of that made Dorian snicker. For just a second he really could picture a little blond child, mop of curls with a red plaid shirt on, running around and pulling out chairs and holding doors for everyone. It was adorable, if only because he could _also_ picture the full grown version doing much the same. Ridiculous, but it was sweet. “Here I would have thought a successful professor type like you wouldn’t deal in cheap beer,” he teased, “when I think long nights grading exams my mind doesn’t go to ice cold cans from the fridge, really. More like... a glass of something smooth under a reading lamp with a lot of red pen. You know, that could have just been my professors though. Me projecting, all that kind of thing.” Dorian winked then, and settled back in the seat.

The further away from the house they got the more that feeling seemed to ebb. There was loneliness there, sure, but it wasn’t at all like what he’d felt before. So maybe it wasn’t Cullen. Cullen seemed too practical to call them just to get attention anyway, so it had to be the house. The little signs were there, but more that feeling than anything was what had Dorian intrigued. “When you bought your place,” he began after a moment, “the first time you were in it, I mean, you said you fell in love with it. No weird feelings or anything then? No... like you were being watched?” It would make sense, after all, since spirits seemed to dislike any shakeups in routine. Still, he had to wonder if maybe both whatever was in the house and Cullen had been drawn to each other somehow.

“It’s just that you seem more relaxed,” Dorian went on, “and it’s only been a minute or two. It’s good, though, that it doesn’t seem to be attached to _you_ personally. Just the house.”

\----

Cullen wondered, for just a moment, what kind of classes a _spirit_ hunter would take. Probably something on the liberal arts side of the campus… the side that he only visited when he had to, even when he himself was a student. Too many unknowns over there… too many candid discussions about human nature and feelings with too few rules to look to for answers. That sort of thing seemed about right for someone who chased phantoms for a living.

Before he could ask, though, the conversation shifted back to him. His house. And whatever was in it. At least it was easier to talk about now that they were away. Easier still since it was just himself and this charismatic and… well, he might as well be honest… _handsome_ stranger. “Yeah,” he answered and followed the SUV in front of them into a right turn, “It always clears up when I’m out. I guess that’s why it’s so easy to talk myself into believing nothing’s wrong.” He paused for a moment, brows pulled together in a thoughtful expression while he reflected back to the first time he saw the house. “I don’t remember feeling anything particularly strange. When I first saw the house, I mean. Well, maybe… it sort of… spoke to me. It was _welcoming_ and seemed like there was _history_ there, you know? I put an offer down that same day… which, yeah, was a little strange for me. I’m a very, ah… careful man,” Cullen explained, “Long on thought… pro and con lists and costs associated and… well, you get the idea. But I didn’t do any of that… I just dove in. It felt right. It felt like home.”

\----

“That would be a good feeling,” Dorian said with a small smile, “I’m still doing the rental thing, myself, so... I haven’t really found somewhere that’s been ‘home’ for longer than a lease at a time.” Maybe a bit sad, considering he was on the wrong side of thirty now, but there weren’t a lot of places that Dorian felt at home in. Maybe after some months in the various apartments, sure, but other than that there weren’t too many places.

He looked over at Cullen then, “So you teach... I know it was in the paperwork, but... it’s math? Physics?” Dorian asked, “how anyone can read over all that and not have their eyes cross and head spin is beyond me. Too many formulas make my head hurt.”

\----

“Physics, yes,” Cullen answered, “And the formulas are the best part… nothing more amazing than knowing the way the world works… to be able to quantify it, everything from the amount of energy it takes to get out of bed in the morning to the gravitational pull of the sun that woke you up in the first place. It's just… it's damned cool, is what it is. And maybe a bit reassuring.”

They were on the stretch of highway between Cullen's house and town. It was late enough that there wasn't much traffic going their way, and, distance aside, it was a straight shot into town. Basically, Cullen could afford to tune out a little… which was exactly what he was doing. He was on autopilot a bit, thinking about gravitational forces - the universal force of attraction - and he snorted a little laugh as he wondered if there was a bit of that going on in his tiny car. A little… gravity between them.

But it wouldn't do to let his mind drift, amusing as it was to try and put a formula and a number to something that was entirely subjective anyway. “But… I realize that sort of stuff doesn't have a mass appeal. What was your cup of tea… what does a, um, paranormal investigator study?”

\----

Ah, yes. Cullen _would_ want to know, pragmatic man that he was. Dorian could only imagine he turned his nose up a bit at all of this kind of thing with the spirits and everything. “Would you believe that I didn’t go to school for spirit hunting?” he asked with a smile. Alone in the car and talking like they were, Dorian could feel that sort of homey-ness to Cullen. It radiated out of him like something warm. There was still that loneliness there, but when he wasn’t at the house it lessened. “I went to school for communications,” Dorian went on, “screenwriting and that kind of thing. Tele-journalism. I just had a minor in history, specifically in the practices of Mortalitasi and the like in both Nevarra and the Imperium. Somehow it... caught on to this.”

He shrugged then, and lifted a hand to smooth at his mustache, “but I guess we’re a bit in the same business, hm? I try to find a reason why people feel the things they do, experience what they do, and you work to quantify the world as well. Funny, isn’t it? Like that homey feeling you said you got. That’s part of _you_ , not the house, and you just... found a match. Does that make sense?”

\----

Did it make sense? Well, not really… no. Cullen raised an eyebrow and turned his head toward Dorian with a jerk. “A match? With...” Considering the conversation… that Dorian thought the two of them were ‘in the same business,’ at least as far as trying to understand the world... did he mean… ?

And then it came to him, and he could have slapped himself for not immediately understanding. Silly. He was acting silly because a hot guy was being understanding and nice. _Get a grip - remember why he’s even here, ok?_ With a curt nod, he turned back to the road, not liking the way his ears were burning one little bit. “... the house. Right. You’re right. It was what I needed when I needed it… or so I thought.”

\----

“Maybe it still is,” he pointed out, “just because a spirit is there doesn’t mean that you can’t still love the place.” For just a moment there was a look of...was that anticipation on Cullen’s face? It made Dorian’s heart skip a beat for just a second, and he chuckled a bit. “If it’s nothing malicious there’ no reason you can’t live in harmony. I mean...moving your soda around notwithstanding. We can always ask ti to leave your things alone once you acknowledge that it’s there.”

One hand reached over and Dorian patted Cullen’s arm, “We’ll do what we can to make sure everyone’s comfortable, hm?”

\----

Maybe Dorian hadn’t noticed his slip. That was for the best, really. It hadn’t been like Cullen to just snap that house up at the first moment he could, and it wasn’t like him now to be so… taken with someone he’d just met. Or anyone, really. It’d been a good, long while since he’d thought about anything other than his house and his classes.

Cullen drove in silence for a while and let his mind consider Dorian’s words. The man wanted to make sure everyone was comfortable, where everyone presumably included the supposed spirit. It was funny… even though he’d allowed the show into his house, there was still a part of him - a _big_ part - that clung to the feeling that all of this was just a bunch of smoke and mirrors. Dorian seemed genuine, so much so that Cullen found himself _comfortable_ with the man already, but that didn’t change the fact that Cullen was… skeptical.

“So…” he started after a few moments’ contemplation, “I don’t mean to… be offensive. I hope you’ll forgive me if I am, but I have to ask… do you _really_ believe all this? I’m at my wits’ end here, and I just have to know… you’re not just about the show and… and ratings, are you? It really could be a spirit?”

\----

After doing a few seasons of the show, Dorian had all but forgotten what it was like to meet a skeptic. When people called for help it was because _they_ believed. They didn’t need to beg and scrape to find places to film anymore, after all. It was strange to be asked, since really the only people who questioned anymore were assholes on the internet. Dorian had gotten used to being more or less accepted, so it threw him for a moment when Cullen asked.

“You know yourself better than I do, Cullen,” Dorian told him. He turned his head, studied that handsome profile, and for just a moment that concern that had been sitting at the back of his mind went away. This wasn’t a man a day or two away from a breakdown. He was practical and scientific, not unstable and upset. Concerned, sure, but not... there was no way he was doing anything and either forgetting or lying about it. “You trust your senses pretty well,” he went on, “and what seems to be happening isn’t because of _you_. It’s something _else_. Right?”

\----

“That's… somehow comforting and terrifying at the same time,” Cullen answered in a small, hushed sort of voice. That someone who wasn't related to him by blood hadn't immediately written him off as overtired, or the victim of an imagination gone wild, or worse… it _was_ a comfort. Cullen was still Cullen - he wasn't on the brink of some breakdown or losing touch with reality. On the other hand, Dorian's assertion of _something else_ meant that the reality Cullen knew was wrong… or, at the very least, incomplete. So Cullen's mind was intact… but there was the chance he'd lose it to the untethered, freefalling void of the unknown that was opening under his feet. Comforting. Terrifying. He could only hope the next couple of days would prove to be more of the former than the latter.

Cullen spent some silent time getting a little lost there in his own mind, following all the pathways of ‘what if’ until they criss-crossed in a jumbled mess. It was enough to make his head ache a little, but time seemed to speed up. Before he knew it, they were pulling into one of the nicer hotels in town, presumably so the crew could drop their bags off. “Sorry for blanking out there for a second,” Cullen offered as he pulled into a space and put the car into park. “Thinking, you know… But here we are… I'll just wait here, then?”

\----

When Cullen went quiet Dorian had to wonder if maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. He seemed to retreat into himself for a while, and though he didn’t outright study the man Dorian did cast a glance to the side every so often so he could try to see what his face was doing. Cullen seemed more or less okay, if perhaps a little pensive, so that was alright. Maybe Dorian would just need to keep an eye on things, make sure Cullen was doing alright with all this, and be maybe a bit more aware than he was usually. He could do that, after all.

When they pulled up to the hotel he just smiled and patted Cullen’s arm again, “I won’t be too long. I just want to put my stuff away and maybe not look like I just rolled in to film.” Which was true. Dorian wasn’t sure if they were going to change anything up so he’d come dressed for filming, and with the knowledge that they’d be out in public he wanted to at least not look like... well, like he did for work. Thankfully it didn’t take long to get his key, and once he got up to his room there was just enough time to breathe for a moment.

Then... well, he peeled out of the button down he was wearing and tossed it on the bed. There was no way he was going out to eat with a ram skull on him like that, and even though it was Fereldan in cooler weather the plain black t-shirt underneath would have to do. Better to be cold than look like what his producers thought he should when he wasn’t being paid to, after all. A quick brush through of his hair helped loosen the product in it, and Dorian fussed just a touch until it looked a little more natural than it had. It wasn’t great, but when he traveled he rarely bothered with civilian clothes, since he didn’t want there to be any possible mix up between his work clothes and his normal clothes. It was just easier to pack one or the other, though right now he rather wished he had _something_ maybe a bit more dinner appropriate. When it was just the crew it hardly mattered, but... Cullen would be there. The man had already given him the eye when they first got there, Dorian hadn’t missed that, and the last thing he wanted was someone attractive thinking that he dressed like that of his own free will. He didn’t. Truly, he didn’t.

Once he got back in the car, there was another beat of silence, and Dorian cocked an eyebrow when Cullen just stared at him. Strange. It was all very strange. Thankfully, it seemed to wear off and the promised burgers and beer seemed to go down relatively easy. Away from the house Cullen really was... well, some might call him ‘mild,’ but it was hardly an insult. He was sweet, very intelligent, and had more of a wit to him than one might think for a Physics professor. Like before, it almost felt like they were the only two in the world, and while the sat and talked and ate the feeling only grew. Somehow it was like the rest of the world dimmed around them and left them to their own devices. Dorian had never really experienced that before, and while it was strange it was nice. Something about Cullen was almost magnetic, drew Dorian in with something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, and everything else around them just wasn’t as vivid. That was just how it was.

The evening was a bit of a blur, really. There was food, a few beers, lots of chatting, and at one point they’d even swapped phones to exchange numbers should Cullen need something. Something, of course, could have been anything from questions to problems to maybe wanting a bit of a late night conversation. Maybe. Hopefully, it would be something like that. Then a ride back to the hotel, and Dorian was by himself again. It was a whirlwind, which was about accurate for the weeks of shooting and all that, but it was much more focused. And he wasn’t even drunk, amazingly enough. It just felt maybe like time moved strangely all day.

Sleep, though. Sleep and they’d start filming in the morning. That was what they were there to do: film evidence and help Cullen with his spirit situation. This wasn’t about talks over beer or phone numbers being exchanged. Dorian had to focus. This was about a man and a house and a spirit. The end. Everything else could come after they wrapped... hopefully, anyway. 

\----

The drive home was significantly quieter than the drive into the city. When Dorian said his goodbyes and climbed out of the car at the hotel, Cullen was alone, his thoughts the only company as he pointed his headlights towards home. Usually… usually he liked that. Time to think and process and file away neatly, but tonight, things were altogether different. The archivists of his mind were having a hard time parsing through things and finding proper categories or ways to store all the information. He was all over the place, from wondering what was really _real_ to pondering all the shades of gray in Dorian’s eyes. Was he scared? Embarrassed? Confused? A bit giddy? Very taken with a man he’d known for less than a day? All of that. All of it and more, and the little workers in Cullen’s mind just couldn’t agree on how to label anything, so they left it all a jumbled heap on the floor for Cullen to continue to mull over.

And mull he did. Over what had happened in the house earlier, and the menacing feeling that he just had to get out. Over Dorian and how he could somehow sense things. Over dinner. Over whether or not Dorian was flirting. Over whether Cullen should really be letting this… flicker of attraction grow, considering the situation. He was trying to see the sense in everything that had happened, trying to find the set of rules or formulas that would tie it all together, but there simply were none. Cullen wasn’t even 100% on his understanding of the world in general being accurate anymore. How was he supposed to handle that _and_ the interest blooming in his chest? Even now, he could feel his heart speeding up as he thought of how Dorian had come back from his hotel room somehow more comfortable… natural… beautiful.

No, Cullen didn’t know how to put the pieces together, at least not yet, but he did know two things: 1. He had Dorian’s number in his phone and 2. Dorian would be back at his place tomorrow. Maybe then, after all this spirit business was handled… maybe then he’d understand.

For now, though, Cullen was home, and though he entered the house cautiously, there was none of that foreboding dread hanging heavy in the air. Just the opposite, in fact. The house felt… somehow pleased with itself. Maybe even a little smug. “Oh,” Cullen called out to no one at all as he locked the door behind him then made his way to the kitchen to grab some water before bed, “Happy to show off for the big spirit hunters are we?" 

_Maker, I am losing it. Now I’m talking to whatever this thing is… wait should I even be doing that? What if I’m… communing with some demon? Andraste’s blood… if spirits are real, does that mean demons are, too? And what about possession? Could this thing…_

But that was as far as he got before his eyes locked onto something… puzzling. A word. A word spelled out in magnets on his refrigerator door… but one that meant absolutely nothing to him.  Head cocked to the side and brows drawn together, Cullen fished his phone out to snap a picture and send it along to Dorian with the accompanying message: _On the fridge when I got home. Does ‘duck’ mean anything to you or your crew?_


End file.
